


Crêpes

by galaxystiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystiel/pseuds/galaxystiel
Summary: A sudden break-up sees an equally sudden reunion. Why is everyone in Dean's life obsessed with crêpes Suzette?
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, past Castiel/Dean Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 90
Collections: Writers of Destiel Weekly Words





	Crêpes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Writers of Destiel server's Weekly Words event. The prompt was 'fleeting flames'.

Tonight was the night.

Dean had the key on a cheesy heart chain, pink and tawdry, but he knew Benny would get a kick out of it. 

Everything was set to be perfect. The beers were chilling in a cooler between them as they sat in Dean’s backyard, the grill heating up, waiting for the lovely filets Dean had chosen especially. A domed fire pit sat between them, the orange glow of the flames a lovely match for the sky as the evening began.

He had this whole speech planned out, but the words fell away from him as the innocent question he’d just asked had backfired spectacularly.

“ _C_ _rêpes_ _Suzette_.”

“What?” Dean almost choked on his beer.

“You asked what I wanted for breakfast tomorrow. _C_ _rêpes_ _Suzette_.”

Dean tore his eyes away from Benny’s all-too-knowing gaze, his jaw clenching reflexively. “C’mon, man. Don’t… don’t do that. You know I don’t make that dish anymore. Too many memories.”

“Exactly, _cher_. And if we’re gonna have any kinda future together, you gotta move past those memories. Cas left his mark on you when he chose his job over you, I get that. But I’m right here. Make new memories with me.”

Against his will, Dean found himself turning to read the expression on Benny’s face. He fell into the blue eyes, eyes that were pleading for Dean to choose _him_ , to move on from heartache and build a future together.

“I can’t.” The sheen of tears disguised the flicker of pain on Benny’s face, but as Dean blinked the moisture back, he knew the resignation he found there instead would haunt him for a considerable amount of time.

 _He knew I wouldn’t choose him,_ Dean realised, and the deep fractures that Castiel had left in his heart were momentarily replaced by new ones, cracks and chasms that belonged entirely to Benny.

Benny nodded, and got to his feet. “I understand. I think I should go. Maybe… maybe don’t call me for a while. Let me wallow.”

“You’re breaking up with me because I won’t make you crêpes?” Dean asked, roughly, though he knew that wasn’t fair, that he was in no position to be throwing accusations around, and that Benny certainly wasn’t at fault here.

Benny’s lips brushed against his forehead, and Dean closed his eyes and wished, not for the first time, that he could have loved Benny the way he deserved to be loved.

“Oh, sugar,” Benny said kindly, though his voice was gruff, hiding the array of emotions he had to be feeling. “You and I both know this was a long time comin’ and didn’t have a damn thing to do with crêpes.”

Dean stared at the fire pit, and chose not to hear the sound of Benny leaving. He sat in the yard long after the darkness fell around him. His eyes fixed on the last sparks of the fire pit, the fleeting flames that still lingered long after the inferno had gone.

Dean wondered when he started seeing metaphors for his life everywhere, and if he’d one day he’d resemble those last dying flames, a shadow of what he once used to be, alone.

 _Cr_ _êpes_ _Suzette_ had been the last thing he’d made for Castiel before the bombshell had dropped about him moving away. To Dean, it represented the last moment of true happiness he’d felt, before it had all been ripped away from him.

The thought of making them again for anyone else made him sick to his stomach. As much as he cared for Benny, he couldn’t do it. What he and Cas had shared was something special. Something that only came around once in a lifetime. He’d tried to move on, and he’d found some measure of happiness with Benny. But it wasn’t enough. As much as it pained Dean to admit it, Benny wasn’t enough.

He would never be Cas.

Dean tossed the key he’d planned to give to Benny into the fire pit, and grabbed his car keys. Steak would leave a bitter taste in his mouth now, and he just wanted to spend the rest of the night wallowing. Starting with a whole quart of ice cream.

* * *

The grocery store had an abundance of flavours, and Dean hovered in front of the glass doors, mulling over his choices. What flavour screamed heartbroken and pathetic?

“No, I won’t forget the Moose Tracks. Yes, I know you won’t eat anything else—”

Dean froze. _No, it can’t be_. He’d know that gravelly voice anywhere. Castiel always sounded like he’d just drank a glass of the smokiest whisky, laced with jagged shards of broken glass.

And why wouldn’t the universe do this to him today, of all days? When his heart was open and raw and he was wearing his vulnerability on his sleeve for the world to see, like a big freaking parade float that announced just how fucked up he was.

He turned, to meet a wide-eyed Castiel staring back at him.

“Gabriel, I’ll have to call you back,” Castiel said, after a long pause. “Hello, Dean,” he added quietly. Dean watched the path Castiel’s cell phone took from his ear to the pocket of his dumb ass trenchcoat and wasn’t sure that he had even hung up properly.

“Hey,” Dean replied weakly. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel pursed up his lips in thought, and then gave a brusque nod. “Three years, give or take.”

 _Jesus, has it been that long?_ Dean wondered. He couldn’t have known it, from looking at Castiel. He looked exactly the same.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, how long have you, uh, you know. Been back in town? Or is this just a brief visit?”

Castiel shrugged. “No, I’m here for good this time. My contract finished and I decided to come home. I’ve been back a month or so.”

Dean felt a pang of hurt, and wondered how it even registered amidst the numbness he felt. _And he didn’t even call?_

He felt thoroughly pathetic when Castiel seemed to know what he was thinking. “I would have looked you up, but I wasn’t sure of my welcome.”

“It’s cool. You don’t owe me an explanation, Cas.” The overwhelming need to just leave and remove himself from further humiliation was too much, and Dean cleared his throat. “Anyway, I better… good seeing you.”

He abandoned all thoughts of ice cream in favour of just getting the hell out of the store. The evening air was welcome, and even in his lightweight button down and t-shirt combination, he felt stifled. Leaning against the hood of his car, he tilted his face up to the sky and tried to get his emotions under control. He just needed a minute. _One minute, and then I’ll drive home and empty a bottle of whisky and forget all about this miserable goddamn day._

“Dean.”

His eyes flew open and he arched backwards in fright. “Son of a bitch,” he wheezed, clutching at his chest. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel replied softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He looked more human out here, his shoulders slumped and patches of his face shrouded in shadow where the streetlamps failed to reach.

“Forget about it,” Dean sighed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel stood, wringing his hands together with his eyes fixed on the space between them. “I just know that it felt wrong to let you leave. I’ve thought about you so often since I left.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel nodded, an almost wistful expression on his face that faded to disappointment when Dean didn’t say anything back.

“What do you want me to say, Cas? Thinking about me didn’t make you pick up the phone. Didn’t make you reconsider leaving me behind. You made the choice between your dream job and me, and I came up short.”

“You make that sound like it was an easy choice. It was my dream job or the love of my life. It tore me apart. I chose to take the job because I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t.”

Dean turned away, couldn’t bear to see the honesty reflected back at him. It was easier to accept that Cas had chosen to leave him behind if he got to blame him for it.

“And now?”

“I know I would have.” A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and Dean closed his eyes, fighting back tears. “But I regret losing you more.”

“Yeah, well we can’t roll back the clock, no matter how much we want to.” It took all of Dean’s strength not to let his voice crack, and he still couldn’t make himself turn around and face Castiel.

“No, we can’t. But we can choose how to spend the years we have ahead. I’m not suggesting we pick up where we left off. Too much has happened and too much time has gone by for that. But I know that I miss you, and I’ve had enough regret to last a lifetime. And I know I’d regret it if I let you leave without making it clear that I still care for you. I never stopped.”

Dean took in a shaky breath and gathered all that remained of his strength. That was something he could understand.

He turned. “Have you eaten?”

Castiel shook his head, but he looked hopeful. “Not yet. I was here to pick up something for dinner.”

“Me neither. If Gabriel won’t miss you, I could cook or something. At my place. We could talk.”

“I’d like that. Can I bring anything? Or… pick something up inside?”

Dean thought back to the steaks he’d planned to have that evening. It wouldn’t feel right sharing that meal with Castiel.

“Sure. Grab some ingredients. Anything but steak is fine with me. I’ll make anything you want.”

“Sounds good. Meet at your place, then?” Castiel made no attempt to move, despite his words. “You still…?”

“Same house. Never moved.” Dean needed to be the one to walk first, because it didn’t seem like Castiel was going to. He took a few steps to the left and opened the driver’s side door.

It was almost a relief, once he closed the door. Castiel’s presence clouded his judgement, left him unable to think. Dean drove away, pointedly not looking at Castiel in his mirrors as he did so.

In the relative safety of his home, Dean leaned against the front door and just breathed. It felt like a month had gone by since Benny left, yet it had barely been more than a couple of hours. Inviting Castiel over tonight felt reckless and disrespectful, but Dean had never been particularly strong when it came to keeping Castiel at arm’s length.

He’d just finished pulling himself together when he heard Castiel’s car pull up outside. Forgoing the awkwardness of making him knock, Dean opened the door as Castiel reached it.

“You redecorated,” Castiel commented, looking around at the eggshell walls.

Dean shrugged. He didn’t really remember what it looked like before. “Guess so. Come through to the kitchen and we’ll get started on dinner. Want a beer?”

Castiel shook his head, dutifully heading to the kitchen. He needed no direction. This had once been his home too. The brown paper bags were settled on the counter, and Dean wasted no time picking through them in an attempt to fill the awkward silence that had fallen upon them.

No meat or veggies that Dean could see at first glance. _Eggs, butter, sugar_ … his frown deepened. The oranges gave it away

“Cas,” Dean’s shoulders tensed, his back stiff. The words he wanted to say were lost on his tongue, and he sighed. “Why do you want crêpes for dinner?”

“I’ve made them once or twice over the last couple of years and they never tasted right. They didn’t taste the same way you made them. I want to see what I missed.”

 _Me,_ Dean thought desperately. _You missed me. They didn’t taste the same because it wasn’t me who made them._

But instead of saying any of this aloud, he nodded and rolled up his sleeves. The crêpe batter was something he’d made a thousand times, so he just lost himself in the process. Sifting flour and salt, making a well in the centre for the eggs, adding milk once the mixture thickened. Next, he zested an orange and added it to the mixture, along with some sugar to sweeten it.

He could feel Castiel’s presence behind him, watching him, yet there was something so familiar about the process, that it wasn’t unnerving. For the first time since he’d bumped into Castiel, he felt himself relax.

Dean cooked the crêpes through one at a time, placing a sheet of greaseproof paper between each one until he ran out of batter. Then he started on the sauce.

Castiel moved closer, leaning against the bench and watching every motion, as Dean methodically zested another orange and juiced both. The zest and juice went into a new pan with a pat of melted butter, along with a little more sugar and a generous measure of brandy. Dean usually preferred to use Grand Marnier, but he had none on hand and this wasn’t the first time he’d made it with brandy.

When the liquid was heated and nicely thickened and caramelised, Dean added the crêpes, deftly folding them into little triangles that were liberally coated in the sauce. They could have been served as they were, but Castiel’s arm was now knocking against his, and he was clearly expecting the theatrics of the flambé, so Dean obliged.

He held a metal ladle over the flame, warming it, before splashing in a touch of brandy. He returned it to the flame for just a moment, before setting it alight. The flaming brandy poured over the crêpes, and Dean watched as the fleeting flames roared high and pink, before slowly dying out.

He didn’t bother with plates, just handed Castiel a knife and fork and gestured to the pan. He didn’t watch Castiel take the first bite, cutting into his own crêpe, but he did look up when he heard the sigh.

“Something wrong?”

“No, they’re perfect. I just… can’t understand why I can’t make them right. I did everything you just did.”

Dean shook his head. “Not everything, Cas. You know how important emotion is to cooking. They didn’t taste the same, because when you made them yourself they weren’t made by…”

He trailed off. Castiel stepped forward, keeping his gaze.

“Made by—” Castiel prompted.

Dean’s chin raised. “Made by someone who loves you,” he finished softly.

He wasn’t sure if he moved first or if Castiel did, but suddenly they were kissing and his fists were curled around Castiel’s shoulders, bunching the fabric of his trenchcoat.

The chapped lips were warm and pleasant against his own, and it never failed to surprise him how soft Castiel’s mouth was, how inviting his kisses were.

It would be all too easy to take him to bed and undress him, to make love to him and then carry on as if nothing happened, as if he hadn’t been gone for the last few years. As if they’d never broken up.

But Dean couldn’t do that to himself. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be healthy, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Committing to something here would be a promise, a promise that he wasn’t sure he was ready to make.

He broke the kiss. “Cas—”

“I know,” Castiel interrupted, but he was smiling. “I know. I’m not asking for anything. I’m here, and you know how I feel. If you want to try, then…”

“I do,” Dean admitted honestly. “I want to try. But… slow, okay?”

Castiel’s smile widened, gummy and brilliant, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. “I can do slow,” he promised. “Can I still stay for the crêpes?”

Dean returned the smile. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them! Leave a comment below, or even a kudos.


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